


Series of Paths

by KarenHikari



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:29:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6794494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarenHikari/pseuds/KarenHikari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was one thing near death experiences and death in itself had taught Leo Valdez that surely was that one should never leave a task undone or a word unsaid. Which was why he was staring to a blank piece of paper, a pen in his hands and a frustrated expression placed upon his features, trying to direct a letter to the one and only foster parent he was thankful for, Ms. Linda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Series of Paths

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, lt's start from the beginning: a long time ago I was reading a fanfic about Leo and his multiple foster homes. I honestly do not remember the name of this story, if I did I promise that I would have written it here so you could go and check it out, because I really enjoyed it (although it was one of those stories that haven't been updated in years, but...).
> 
> Anyways, so while I did that, I cried a lot because my poor baby, but also tehre was one lady who had fostered him was sweet and super nice. As I tell you, the story never met its end and was abandoned, but in my crazy little mind, I don't know why, the idea of him writing a letter to that woman, whose house he ran away because at some point the house next to hers caught a fire, and Leo felt guilty although he didn't have anything to do with it.
> 
> So, this storys is not related to the one I read, but I just wanted to share with you how the idea originated. For a while I even thought of not writing this story because it sounded a little weird and I didn't see much in it, but after going over it a couple of times I decided it was short enough to give it a try so... here it is!
> 
> I really hope you like it!

If there was one thing near death experiences and death in itself had taught Leo Valdez that surely was that one should never leave a task undone or a word unsaid. Especially if one of those to-do things were an apology or the assurance of love.

Right then, only a couple of months after Gaea's defeat, he had finally set up his mind on what he needed to do―for a start, he had to give a couple of apologies and solve pendant accounts.

Which was why he was staring to a blank piece of paper, a pen in his hands and a frustrated expression placed upon his features, trying to direct a letter to the one and only foster parent he was thankful for, Ms. Linda Uribe.

The woman, already in her mid-thirties when he'd been placed in his house was the American daughter of a couple of Mexican immigrants and in her own words the reason she fostered was "To give back a little of what she had received".

She had an easy smile that sent her deep-brown eyes sparkling and long, brunette hair she usually kept in a braid. She was one of the few people he had encountered through his long years wandering from one foster home to the other who hadn't been bothered by the way he switched from English to Spanish and vice versa. Oh no, far from that, she did the exact same thing, and being easily distracted and almost childish sometimes as she was, she often asked him for a translation when she couldn't remember a word in either of the languages and caught herself saying something like "Close the puerta*" or "Pásame* that toy", for the relief of both Lily and Tom, the other boys Linda was fostering.

Her house was the third he'd stayed in, and the first one, the only one of which he actually regretted having fled like the coward he was.

He hadn't run away because she mistreated him, he hadn't escaped simply because she was a neglectful person―he had plainly left that house because the kind smile in Linda's lips, the gentle sparkle of her eyes, the tone of her voice and the way she blinked her eyes whenever she noticed a little too late that she was talking in Spanish instead of English reminded him of his mother, of the wonderful, wonderful woman he had killed.

And it hurt. It hurt too much to see someone like Linda, someone like his mother being alive and well, being healthy and about to welcome him in her house, to treat him as if he were something precious and worth taking care of after what he had done.

He escaped because he was scared of hurting Linda like he'd done his mother. He escaped because he was afraid of losing the only good thing that had happened to him in years and thus he preferred to willingly give it up.

Right then, after more than four years, he had finally realized how extremely selfish he had been. At the time the only thing in his mind had been him, and he hadn't even spared a glance to the multiple problems and legal issues a runaway would cause to the person supposed to be taking care of him.

When the one he was affecting was someone like Theresa or Roland it was easy to wash one's hands and not be worried about any problems one might have brought upon them―those people shouldn't even have a license for fostering children.

But when it was someone like Linda, cheery and kind and loving, then really, he had to be ashamed of what he'd done.

And he was.

After Gaea's defeat he had been thinking, and maybe it was time he tried, at least tried, to make some wrongs, rights.

Then again, he was too much of a coward to actually go and knock Linda's door, which also explained the paper and pen he was holding.

When two weeks later he finally sent the letter the only thing that he prayed for after several hours of squeezing his brain was that his handwriting was somewhat readable and that Linda Uribe still remembered who he was.

Ms. Uribe:, it read,

I want to start by offering you an apology. You might not remember me, but you took me in your house some years ago before I ran away.

I'm sorry, Ms. Uribe. I'm sorry.

It had nothing to do with you and I've only realized until now that my selfish behavior might have caused you a lot of problems, especially legal conflicts, which was not at all what I meant to do. At the time I was young and immature and I didn't think about the consequences my acts would bring to anyone other than myself.

I know, Ms. Uribe, that you were well aware when you welcomed me in your house of the history I had with foster homes, but you still decided to take me with you, maybe thinking that you'd be able to help me, to anchor me.

I'm sorry for disappointing you, I know I should have stayed with you, because if there was someone, someone in the world able to help me when I was younger, that surely was you.

On the other side, however, I was afraid. At the time I was too scared of hurting you. I blamed myself of my mother's death, even when you and everyone else assured me that such a thing wasn't true.

At the time, I really believed I did not deserve to be treated kindly by someone like you. That is why I ran away―because I was scared, because I thought I'd hurt you and because I felt guilty.

Things have changed now, and I can finally see that what happened to my mother wasn't my fault, but it's only after all these years that I'm mature enough to recognize my mistakes and face them.

If you still remember who I am and do not hold any grudges against me, I want to let you know that I'm alright. After three more foster homes and a boarding school I can say that I've finally found a place where I belong, wonderful friends that I've come to consider my family and an amazing girlfriend. I am happy now.

I want to thank you for everything you did for me and I also want to repeat myself and apologize to you.

Wishing you the best,  
Leo Valdez.

–*–*–

When the son of Hephaestus posted the letter he was not expecting an answer; better put, he hadn't stopped to think that when one sent a letter to someone that someone might want to reply back.

And yet, two weeks later a harpy went looking for him to the forges and delivered him a letter inside a white envelope. He was near to flabbergasted.

In a neat, gracious handwriting, the sender read Linda Uribe.

He was so eager and so nervous to find out what Linda had written that he almost forgot to clean his hands in a cloth before taking the paper from the harpy's hands.

As soon as he got to his cabin he ripped the envelope and started reading.

Dear Leo:

I'm so glad to hear about you! After you left I was never able to find out where you were or what had happened to you, and it always kept me worried sick.

Don't worry about me, cariño*, I know why you did what you did.

Judging by the years I've been fostering I know that every once in a while you find a child that's in need of something so badly they can't be in peace until they find it, although what they're looking for is something they can't even define. However, I've learned to understand that when this happens there's nothing we can do to help those children, for this is something they have to find on their own, learning from this quest and their mistakes.

I knew you were one of those kids right away. I'm glad you've found what you were looking for.

Just for you to know, Lily is now living with her grandmother and Tommy was adopted by a couple only a few years after you left; he's been living in Arizona ever since. I'm sure they'd be super happy to hear from you too, so I'm adding their addresses at the bottom of this letter, just in case you want to send them something too.

Right now I have three diablillos* living with me, and eight-year-old named Candy, a six-year-old named Melissa and a three-year-old boy called Diego. The three of them together keep me busy most days, but it'd lovely if you came around someday. I still live in the same place and other than some years, nothing was changed

I'm glad that you remember me in such a wonderful way, and I want to thank you―to thank you for being brave enough and strong enough to leave and find your own path.

Destiny isn't about what is written, but about how we play the cards we've been given.

I know that whatever has happened since the last time we saw each other you've become a great person, and I want to tell you that I'm proud of you.

I'd really love to see you, and if you ever need anywhere to go or simply a place to pass a couple of days, you can always come here. Mi casa es tu casa*, Leo, you know that. I'd also find it wonderful to meet those friends you talk so nicely about and that girl that, I have no doubt, is amazing, if she's managed to capture your heart.

Wishing you the best and hoping you'll reply back,  
Linda.

PD: What's up with you and all that formality in your letter? You'd always call me Linda and suddenly I'm "Ms. Uribe this", "Ms. Uribe that". Really, hon, what's that?

–*–*–

As his eyes finished reading the last word of Linda's letter, the son of Hephaestus couldn't help but think that maybe, maybe she was right.

Perhaps it was not only time to forgive mistakes, but to forget them too and not live under regrets. Maybe he really had been an idiot thinking someone like Linda would hate him forevermore after running away as a child. Who knew, perhaps it'd really be nice to spare her a visit and meet the new children she was taking care of, tell them they were lucky to be with her. Maybe he'd even write to Lily and Tom too.

Perhaps Linda was right and there was no such a thing as what the Fates chose for us, but only a bunch of causalities and possibilities thrown in one's face―the infinite ocean of choices one could make with those, good, bad, evil or not, only depended on how each person played his cards.

Perhaps destiny was only the final end of a series of paths of what one had chosen.

**Author's Note:**

> So...? What do you think? Did you like it or should it have stayed in the "Possible stories" list?
> 
> Here go the translations! Also, I'm curious, how do you feel when I insert words in other languages in the story? Do you like it, enjoy it, hate it? Am I the only one who really loves it? Please comment!
> 
> *1: Puerta, door.
> 
> *2: Pásame, give me.
> 
> *3: Cariño, dear, darling.
> 
> *4: Diablillos, little devils.
> 
> *5: Mi casa es tu casa, my house is your house.
> 
> Anyways, I'm about to spam you because I've been busy like seven hells and I have a lot of stories waiting to be published!
> 
> I love you! Read you soon!


End file.
